


The mirror will watch over you

by Charmion



Category: Velvet Goldmine
Genre: Death of Glitter, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-19
Updated: 2015-10-19
Packaged: 2018-04-27 04:31:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5033863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charmion/pseuds/Charmion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during the Death of Glitter concert. Glitter dying from multiple points of view: Curt, Jack, Brian, Arthur, and not last and not least Mandy. </p><p>  <i>The ashes of their shared life have proven to be remarkably fertile.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	The mirror will watch over you

That it should end with Jack Fairy is only fitting, Curt thinks when he sees the shadowy figure hiding in the wings. After all, it began with him.

Although most of the people in the crowd attending the Death of Glitter concert will be only subliminally aware of it, Jack has always been the beating heart of it all. He is the one who first started wearing his inside on the outside. Not many understand that about Jack: that his clothes, his hair and his jewellery are a means of communication, his way of telling the world what he feels or is or thinks. He talks in looks. The more layers he is wearing, the more he bares his soul. This is the language he's taught them, and for a while it was the preferred speech among them all.

These days Curt does not speak it very fluently, or often.

In that way Brian and Jack are opposites, and this is something else few people know. In the end Brian was merely Maxwell - and who knew if Maxwell was even human? His clothing was all talk, but he had nothing left to say. Curt himself has more flaws than he can count and probably a few more that he doesn't know about, but an inability to feel is not one of them. The more he cursed Brian out, however, and tried to get him to express _something, anything_ , _fuck you!,_  the more Brian blanked, seemingly determined to prove his indifference. So much so that Curt had eventually concluded the Brian he knew and loved had stopped existing. The thought still wasn't comforting. 

Curt grimaces. Were one to read his thoughts, one might suggest he's bitter.

He watches Jack saunter from the wings to the backstage bar, moving smoothly to the beat of the relentless drum of the Creatures' - honestly pretty amazing - rhythm section. The darkness in his mind does not stop him from smiling at the sight of Jack - so much stunning artifice, so real and pure. 

If it hadn't been for Jack he probably wouldn't have been there. If Jack hadn't been the one to ask, he would've begged off the invitation completely. Why would he play an event that makes him so angry as this 'farewell to glam'? To be honest, he probably would not even have been invited either if it hadn't been for Jack, who fished him out of the gutter and gave him another chance at life (what was it now, his fourth, fifth? He's lost count ). Together they've made music, and that is why he is here - to play their music. He and Jack, they will move on. He doesn't know where he will go himself, but Jack will effortlessly reinvent himself. And for them both their music is the future. All this - the glitter kids, the feathers, the familiar faces - is already the past.

He lights a cigarette and walks straight over to Jack, tapping him on the shoulder as he reaches him. Jack turns, already smiling. "Curt." He bows his head and kisses him softly on the mouth. Though the music is too loud to hear anything else, Curt can feel the stares and the excited tittering going up around them. He closes his eyes and deliberately prolonges the kiss, opening his mouth and coaxing open Jack's. After seconds Jack pulls back and looks at him, eyes dancing with amusement. Then he signals Curt to follow him and begins to weave his way to the dressing rooms, the crowd of hangers on and wannabe's anxiously splitting before them to make way. Shivering slightly, Curt closes the zipper of his silver coat.

The sounds dim when they close the backstage door behind them. Curt sighs with relief.

"My, my. There is quite some tension in you today, Mister Wild." Jack speaks quietly, as is his wont. He takes Curt's hand and presses it, then holds it in his. "You are going to wind them up a little more later?"  

"I'm not playing for them tonight, I think." Curt takes a deep drag of his cigarette.

"You are angry. That's understandable. But they can't help it, you know. It's not their fault." They have reached a door with Curt's name on it in simple black marker on white paper. Next to it is a door with a similar sign for the Flaming Creatures, which is elaborately decorated with flowers drawn in multicolour lipstick and glitter, and one purple drawing of a cock. Jack opens the door, and together they enter the small dressing room.

"I don't give a fuck about them. They're idiots." It takes Curt only seconds to locate the whisky. Grabbing it from the vanity, he falls into a red pluche chair in a corner, opens the bottle and takes a large swig. 

Jack picks up two items of Curt's clothing from another chair and lays them over the couch carefully, one after the other. "No, they're not. Or at least not too many of them.  There are some among them who will even understand things. They will surprise you, Curt." He carefully sets himself down. "If you let them. They will follow you everywhere."

"Is what I said, idiots. Cheers." He takes another deep swig, then offers the bottle to Jack, who puts a perfectly manicured hand around the neck and sets the bottle to his mouth. These are the kind of  contrasts that keep fascinating him about the man. Curt grins at him. "Anyway, fuck that death shit. I am gonna do some of our new stuff."

Jack swallows the whisky with his eyes closed, then opens them and smiles back. "You do that, love. I am going to prepare myself. You are up after Polly, in about half an hour." Standing up, he leans over to Curt and kisses him again. This time Curt accepts his kiss more tenderly. "Amaze them. But you always do."

When Jack already has his hand on the doorknob, Curt says quietly, "Heard anything?"

Jack turns around, his eyes understanding. "No. Just Mandy. She will be here, I expect."

Curt drops his head and sighs. "Okay." It doesn't make much of a difference, he tells himself. He will still do what he is here to do.

***

They are feasting on him, Jack thinks. Feasting on his body, his life. And he is defiantly inviting them all to participate.

After a rambunctious set the music has slowed down consideraby for the finale, but the crowd outside is getting close to hysterics. The people watching from the wings have fallen silent. And Jack can only stare at Curt, who is kneeling onstage, pleading to someone unseen to accept his submission. It is simultaneously awe-inspiring and frightening to witness.

Jack knows this song by heart, of course, seeing as it is partly his, and he knows perfectly well what it is about. He would guess that even people who have not seen Curt trash a room after he caught a glimpse of a particularly nasty interview tidbit with a completely coked-up Brian, and held him afterwards when he was exhausted from rage and grief, people who were not present at the one-take recording that brought a producer to tears and fucked up Curt for a good week afterwards, who had not needed to go out and find him among the whores and junkies of Berlin's Kreutzberg after a major forget-all bender that lasted six days - even people who have not had those experiences will know what the song is about. And if they do not, the naked pain in the angles of Curt's writhing, begging - beautiful - body tells the story. No names needed, no faces.

When Curt announced he was going to play new material, Jack automatically ruled out the possibility of him including this particular song in his set, on this particular night. It would be too much, even for someone so prone to bare all in front of everybody as Curt.

It _is_ too much. And yet he is doing it.

It's amazing to Jack, the way that Curt voluntarily exposes his all to the public, unequivocally - and he can't help but think that this kind of sacrifice, this bravery is what a true revolutionary makes. But not, never, a star.

For the rest, Jack can only hope that the person Curt is calling to is listening, and can appreciate the bloody massacre that's executed in his name.

***

On stage Curt is all substance, now even more than Brian remembers him. He hasn't seen him perform for quite a while, but he would not think it possible he'd have become even more real. In words or actions or expression Curt was always one for telling the truth. He still is, but nowadays he is doing it much more plainly.

_Can you feel it?_

It would be impossible not to feel it, but he doesn't like it. Why did he come? It's pathetic. They're all pathetic, and he is too. Hiding behind the broad brim of his hat, in a shadowy doorway, trying to remain unseen by all those people, who _hate_ him... He knows it's true. He's seen their reaction at the beginning of the evening when his name was mentioned.

Old images of Curt enter his mind - of eyes in a grim face slowly focussing and turning incredibly gentle. A sudden smile, surprisingly disarming. His teeth biting his lower lip, making him appear almost innocent and quite young. Some kind of dare, spoken with an upward turned chin and raised eyebrows. His body - inviting and exciting as nothing Brian has known before. And then the unguardedness of his manner in an early morning, out of the spotlights and with intoxication wearing off.  The sweetness of his lips.

There is the sight of him now,  trashing around, with muscles controlled  by nothing but raw impulse. He's turning himself inside out for all to see. On some level, all Brian can feel is contempt. _A real artists creates beautiful things and puts nothing of his own life into them._

Then why is this beautiful to him?

It is the kind of beauty that is far away and unattainable, now as never before, even if this Curt, on stage, seems to speak straight to his gut. What in the hell should he do with that? Curt called him selfish, and a liar, and an egomaniac, and a flaking fake. He called him _nothing._

Slowly Brian brings his cigarette to his mouth. He exhales. Then, making a sudden decision, he pushes of off the wall, turns and walks out, taking the images with him to examine later, closely.

***

Mandy sees him go. Even if his blue hair hadn't betrayed him, she would have recognized him anywhere. It's his profile. Chin, mouth, nose, and a slight slump in his shoulders. She's surprised by the rush of anger she feels. _Leave_ , she wants to say. _You never stay, even when the person you claimed to love begs and shouts and screams out her pain._  

She hasn't spoken to him. Doesn't know what he's been doing. Hasn't wanted to know. She's heard rumours, of course. People who have seen him. He was here and there, in and out, close and far away. Like a spirit, intangible and only alive in other people's stories.

She's rebuilt her life. Built her own life. The ashes of their shared one have proven to be remarkably fertile. She always was an artist in her own right. She is now just that: an artist. She used to create people and success. Now she creates herself.

Just like that, her anger dissipates. 

Brian tore a trail of destruction through all of their lives. He left scars. But as Curt's closing notes sound and he slowly gets up from his prone position on the stage, panting and with distant eyes, she reads an emotion in the lines of his face that mirrors her own: relief.

Yes, their dreams have shattered, crushed, stamped upon. Sold to the highest bidder and then evaporated. But this here, tonight, is also true. Truer, maybe. And somewhere close something new is waiting, something beautiful and real, and both she and Curt only have to stretch out their arms to grasp it.  

***

The Creatures are never much for tragedy. His fun-filled bunch of outcasts just doesn't do drama, and Arthur honestly doubts whether they got anything of what has been happening on stage. He loves them, truly, but... this is Curt Wild, and they just do not get it, do they? Ray declares that he dislikes Curt's 'bloody seriousness all of a sudden', and although Malcolm tries to reason with him, saying that Curt's violence hasn't left him, just has been 'redirected and reshaped into something a bit more human',  Ray just snorts. "Now where's the fun in that?" he says.

Though Brian was the one in the limelight, and his first obsession, the subject of Arthur's fitful dreams has always been Curt. He is not sure anyone can touch Brian. But Curt - he seems so painfully human. Wearing his feelings directly on skin.

What he has seen tonight will be the subject of many a furious dream to come. Curt, calling to an unseen lover to subject him, to hurt him and love him - it's an undescribable image and one he will never forget. What has made almost as big an impression has been Curt entering the wings where he is standing, directly into his line of sight and almost in his personal space. For one moment he is standing there, inadvertently showing off: a silver-clad hip thrust aside, his long torso exposed and perfectly lit, his eyeliner-rimmed eyes thoughtful and restlessly looking around. Real, and tangible, and so damned alive.The image of him has sent a shockwave through Arthur's body, electricity travelling lightning-fast along his sinews to leave him trembling and hard.   

Scary as it is, he will be chasing that feeling tonight.

Now, sitting on the pluche chair in their dressing room -which is located next to Curt's, Arthur is all to aware - he's trying to explain to Ray and Pearl what has happened to him and why he's not going with them to fuck knows where they intend to go. They're lying on the couch, talking about trips and he doesn't know what they are on about, drugs or actual _physical_ transportation?  He has been transported, is what he is trying to tell them - because of Curt and what he's seen tonight. And Curt is apparently still around, so Arthur is staying put.

"You're no fun." Ray is pouting.

"The boy is in love. And Curt looked sad, so Arthur will comfort him. Right?" Pearl winks at him. "I can follow. You've probably been having a stiffy since nine. No wonder you get a little crazy."

"No, really - no. It's not that. I just want to say - get a chance to tell him how incredible - " His protests are drowned out by a two-voiced fit of laughter coming from Ray and Pearl.

It's useless. Ever since Malcolm, ever the perceptive one, noticed Arthur's reaction to the news that Curt Wild was filling the last open slot at the Death of Glitter gig they were opening, Arthur has been mercilessly teased by them all. All except Malcolm himself, who seems to take pity on his predicament.

Arthur would be lying if he would say his fandom did not include various fantasies, from fairytale-clean to downright sordid. But Ray and Pearl make his feelings sound so... juvenile and cheap? he feels he has to protest. Yes, he wants Curt - who wouldn't? But what he wants most of all is a chance to thank Curt, if he can ever find the words.

Because the fact that he's here, with his badly-done blue hair, his eyeliner and his earring, among people who speak in riddles but seem to find him _interesting_ enough to have him around, who don't curse him out when they talk to him, who paint their faces and leave lipstick marks on his mouth and are _men_ -that he is here in his wonderful world of dreams and spirits is all thanks to Curt, he feels. While it isn't an easy life - his total assets amount to nine pounds two pence, for one - he enjoys the safety of a stranger among strangers, queer among queers, and that is a lot more wonderful than an awkward Mancunian boy could ever have imagined. The world he inhabits today is a world he wouldn't have known existed if it wasn't for Brian and Curt.

Very little of this he can say to Ray and Pearl right now, if only because they're far from sober. But for some reason he wants their go-ahead. "Lads, I..."

At that moment, the door opens and Malcolm enters. For a flamboyantly romantic-looking freak Malcolm tends to be surprisingly clearheaded. "Alright children, time to evacuate. I suppose you are taking up Philip on his offer of delights and oddities at the club? Fine. I may meet you there. Though it depend... Arthur, do you want to stay? You need either a key or a chaperone, and I would say the latter considering how scrumptious you look tonight. There are troubling people aloose."

"I would - I would like to stay."

"Arthur goes wherever Curt Wild goes," Ray offers.

Malcolm eyes him with something of tenderness. "Troubling people indeed. Arthur, I will tell you two things about Curt you should remember when you succumb to his attractiveness: he is as bugfuck as they come, which sometimes includes virulent paranoia when under the influence, and he is as kind as they come, which includes well-hidden depths and too much empathy to fit inside one person. This may sound as if I am saying he is two-faced, but I have never known anyone more straightforward than Curt.  It is my personal belief this makes him irrisistable, even if I do not, personally, find him attractive. So with these warnings I will send you on your way. Go with a deity, my friend."

"I just want to talk to him." It sounds feeble, even to Arthur's ears.

"No you don't. Don't fool yourself."

"No, I don't." Feeling a sudden rush of intoxication, Arthur starts to giggle. "I really really don't just want to talk to him." He gets up, walks to the mirror and checks his own reflection, one last time. There is no reason to redo his lipstick - it won't last long tonight. His eyes in the mirror meet Malcolm's smile.

"Good boy, Arthur.  Here's looking at you, kid."

 

**Author's Note:**

> Spring Cleaning, part 2! I found this almost finished on my harddrive. There should be more Creatures fic, actually.
> 
> The titles refers to the Bowie song/performance [The Mirror](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_388rRqS40M). Delighted when I found that not too long ago, because - look at it! It's the Maxwell Demon creature! Obviously Todd Haynes made quite a study of it.


End file.
